“So that’s it. Da muthafucka ran like a bitch. We got to find his bitch ass,” Lil’ Long yelled. Rage stirred within him. Vulcha was silent.
“B-b-bitch where d-d-did da m-m-mutha-f-fucka g-g-go?” Lil’ Long stuttered in his towering anger. He drew his face close to hers, then held her at arm’s length, staring in wide-eyed anticipation. She struggled, in vain, then she answered.
“I-I-I-I d-d-don’t k-k-know.” Her stutter came with fear.
Lil’ Long released the girl and took a couple of steps back. He raised the gun with the silencer and pointed it at the screaming girl’s face.
“D-d-don’t m-mock me, bitch,” he said and squeezed the trigger. Bullets flew, ripping the flesh of her face at close range. She fell, faceless, to the soiled white carpet. The action alarmed the other girls. They began to shriek. Vulcha spun the automatic weapon on them and squeezed the trigger. The gun chopped them in two and they dropped, silenced forever.
“Take his loot, take all of it. He had to have had a stash. Muthafucka wuz being paid,” Lil’ Long said.
“Yeah, all this shit had to have cost him some change,” Vulcha agreed. He started searching. “Probably chump change for that nigga.”
“I found da ice and his stash,” Vulcha announced. He held up a briefcase. In it was stacks of hundred dollar bills.
“How much?” Lil’ Long asked.
“Too much to count right at this minute.” Vulcha replied.
“Ahight, put that shit in a paper bag. I’m a clean off some shit and then we bouncing.”
They slipped out of the apartment and onto the elevator, then walked down a flight to the lobby and left by the service door.
“We’ll find that bitch-ass, muthafucking Hank,” Vulcha said starting the engine.
“That muthafucka ran. He ran like a bitch,” Lil’ Long said. Then he emptied the bag and began to tally the consolations. After a few minutes he looked up.
“Da muthafucka wuz holding thirty Gs an’ change,” he announced. When he looked up he caught a glimpse of a slick, black Mercedes.
“Damn, that shit looks real nice...”
“I could deal wid sump’n like that,” Vulcha said.
“Muthafucka, you can’t even deal wid this, kid. C’mon, remember a couple of weeks ago when you jacked that bitch wid da car and crashed? You a non-driving ass, who need-to-take-your-ass-to-driver’s-ed class, muthafucka.”
“You’re always complaining. I don’t see your ass trying to drive.” Vulcha smiled, slyly.
“That’s your job, muthafucka. Your gig, nig. You think you’re all that, so I let you play yourself, see. Don’t wanna embarrass your ass.”
“Oh, embarrass me, huh? Go ahead. Take da wheels and try that shit.”
“Yeah, be sitting with your heart broken. Like damn, mo’fucking Lil’ Long got mad skills. He should be at Indy and shit. Akking like you chicken head.”
They both laughed and Vulcha lit a cigarette, guiding the car through the light traffic. As they exited the highway, they spotted Kamilla alighting from a cab.
“She live up in this hood?” Lil’ Long asked. “Back this shit up, Vulcha. Let’s pay that bitch an afternoon visit.” Lil’ Long gave Vulcha a tap on his raised fist.
“That muthafucka ain’t skip town so quick. He around somewhere. I can smell them bones.”
Kamilla hurried to her building. She was weary as she
got off the elevator and headed for her apartment. She arrived
as quickly as possible. Hank Boller, former lover, pimp and
father was waiting. He had always been there for her, she
reflected. Now he sought something more than money in return.
As Kamilla fumbled with the keys, she heard his voice inside.
“So what do I do now?” Big Hank asked.
“Ya just have to leave the city for awhile,” Hank heard the caller on the other end say. “These kids are ruthless and they work for really connected peoples. Take some time in Florida, try Texas. I hear Houston is getting real pretty. Stay warm cause these kids, they gonna burn out like streetlights, Hank.”
“And then what?” Big Hank questioned.
“Well, they just get replaced, like light bulbs. There’s a lot of hungry kids out there. Right now, these two are bright stars. They’ll burn out, soon enough. Take a vacation. Call me in a couple months. Bye,” the voice said with finality.
“Bye!” Hank shouted into a dead receiver. He slammed the phone down. Kamilla walked in. Lil’ Long and Vulcha busted in behind her. Hank tried to run. Lil’ Long pounced like a ravenous leopard.
“Hey, hey, you did that once. Your ass is not pulling da same shit twice. No sir. How are you?” Lil’ Long pointed the gun at Hank’s throat.
“Sit down. Please sit,” he continued. “We have a little change from your stash, an’ we know you would like to have it back for da bitch…I mean lady, of course.” He looked meaningfully at Hank, then Kamilla, and then Vulcha, who stood motionless at the door.
Big Hank smiled. “Hey, I know we could reach some understanding, gentlemen.”
“Oh yeah,” Lil’ Long said. His smile held a hint of goofiness.
“Well, gentlemen, y’all are welcome to Kamilla. She’s yours,” Big Hank said.
“Well, she’s actually for da homey wid da lovesick look standing over there.” Lil’ Long pointed to Vulcha, whose frame was blocking the door.
“Since we, me and you, got further biz to address, I suggest we do it outta sight of these love birds. Give ‘em privacy, you feel me?” Lil’ Long smiled at Vulcha and Kamilla with the same goofy look. He winked as he and Big Hank headed out the door.
Alone with Vulcha, Kamilla was uneasy and fearful. Vulcha lay back on the huge, soft bed and smiled. She’s mine, he thought. No more pimp-daddy Hank.
Lil’ Long walked slowly behind Big Hank, who kept trying to eye him as he talked about his other girls. Now Lil’ Long’s smile was genuine. They walked around the corner to Big Hank’s car. There, Lil’ Long pulled out the brown paper bag full of money.
“Hey my man, help the brother out. I need a ride,” he said.
Big Hank was rattling like shingles on a roof in a wind-storm. “Sure, sure,” he said.
Lil’ Long handed him the bag. Big Hank was reassured. He stepped into the car and started the engine.
“Where to?” Hank asked.
“To da left, bitch-ass,” Lil’ Long said. He now held his gun to Big Hank’s temple.
“Ya know, I never did get my guns back from you and them big-time muthafuckas you wuz wid. That shit pissed me da fuck off.”
“Listen, if it’s da money, then here, take the bag. I think that’ll get you some more guns. Many more...”
Lil’ Long was waving his weapon carelessly now, causing Hank to sweat profusely.
“Pull over,” Lil’ Long yelled. “I gotta take a leak. Yeah, over there.”
Big Hank felt better when Lil’ Long reached over and opened the door. Lil’ Long began speaking to himself.
“In my quest to become immortal, a lot of weak ass niggas and bitches must die.”
He then fired twice into Big Hank’s sweating face. His head exploded with the hiss of the gun, the silencer muffling the noise. Hank’s cranium was splattered all over the window and the dashboard. Lil’ Long retrieved the moneybag. Then he lit some matchbooks and tossed them into the back seat. He ripped Big Hank’s shirt, avoiding the blood on it as much as possible, and walked to the rear of the car. He stuffed the shirt into the muffler. He lit the shirt and walked away, the brown bag swaying gently in his hands.
The car exploded as he rounded the corner. He hailed a cab and showed a twenty-dollar bill as he got in. The cab driver took the money and instructions from Lil’ Long. Then, Lil’ Long closed his eyes, and with a sense of accomplishment, leaned back.
NINETEEN
Vulcha looked at Kamilla and felt lust. He wanted her to feel the magic again. But Kamilla was not interested in his fant
asy.
“What’s gonna happen to Big Hank?” She asked, cautiously.
“Well… Well, Big Hank’s gonna get his loot and then he’s gonna hit da blacktop.” Vulcha examined Kamilla’s body language. He saw she was afraid. Maybe he wasn’t convincing. He reached out. She moved backwards. “We’re all alone, honey. No one can bother us. You don’t have to be scared anymore. Ol’ Vulcha will put your fears to rest, sweetheart.”
“What is da blacktop? What’s that like?” Kamilla hoped for the best, but she sensed Big Hank was a dead man.
“Oh, yeah. Blacktop? That’s da way outta here.” Vulcha reached out for Kamilla again.
This time she let him touch her. They embraced. She wanted to trust Vulcha, even though every instinct urged her to run. Kamilla stood while Vulcha pawed her clothes off, and before long they fell onto the large bed. His shaft penetrated her warm, moist flesh as her body readily accepted him.
Kamilla’s mind turned again to Hank. I hope he’s alive, she thought. Big Hank had always helped her through ups and downs. Tears welled in her eyes. Vulcha moved his hips back and forth. She held firmly onto his piston-like hips for the ride. Kamilla suddenly became aware of a surprising feeling; She was free! She clung tightly and sobbed quietly as Vulcha’s eruption calmed her. She drifted off to sleep, her juices still flowing as her mind drifted to thoughts of her former pimp.
Kamilla had met Hank sixteen years ago, after her parents dumped her in a group home. Hank seduced her, gave her money, and took her out. Finally, she moved in with him. He made her complete a high school program. Then he put her out on the street, peddling. Hank didn’t keep her on the street for long. Soon, she had a furnished apartment and handled only special clients. And in time, he supported anything she wanted to do.
She chose college. She graduated and tried several entry-level jobs. She decided they weren’t for her and wound up quitting each of them. Kamilla returned to work for Hank. She managed the finances of his small empire. She was good at it and Big Hank rewarded her well.
But, Kamilla couldn’t manage her coke habit, which eventually broke her down. Increasingly, she blundered; in her own life at first, then in managing Hank’s money. Hank had been aware of the coke habit, but thought she was able to handle it.
When Kamilla hit bottom, Hank convinced her to check into a rehab program and supported her through five, long years of rehabilitation. When she recovered, he rehired her. Using her ample assets and her knack for the business, she quickly blossomed into his bottom girl. He had been loyal and generous to her and she pledged her loyalty in return.
TWENTY
“Everyone has to make a choice. Sometimes we already know it’s the wrong choice, but we go along with it anyway, for friends, for fun, even though we know it’s wrong,” Miss Katie said. Coco’s sleepy head rested on her lap. They had waited hours in the crowded emergency room to learn if Mrs. Harvey had any signs of life. Then a nurse approached, shaking off other anxious families waiting for news of their relatives. She smiled down at Miss Katie.
“Miss Katie, you should go home and come back to visit her tomorrow.”
Coco jumped up. “She’s gonna be alright?”
“We’re gonna keep her a few days. It’s up to her. Who’s signing the papers?” Miss Katie signed and the four-hour ordeal ended.
In the cab on the way home, Coco pondered about the beginning of a new stage in her mother’s life. Maybe she would go to a full-time drug rehab program. Miss Katie had begun to nod off. She opened her eyes and stared at Coco.
“Just a little shut-eye,” she smiled.
“I understand,” Coco said. “My mom should go to a full-time rehab, don’t you think, Miss Katie?”
“Well... you mean a residential? Yes, I think it would help her a lot. She’ll be away from all that temptation.”
“How can we get her in one?”
“Well, it’s really like what the nurse back there said. It’s up to her. It’s up to her.”
Coco leaned back in the seat and shut her eyes. She wanted to help her mother, but it seemed that all she could do was cheer from the sidelines.
The cab pulled up to the curb and they faced the gloom of the building, where Bebop was being laid to rest.
“I guess we better be getting ourselves ready for this.” Miss Katie said. “Coco, I think you should stay with me. Okay? It would also make your mother feel comfortably enough to say yes to the rehab.”
“Thanks, Miss Katie.” Coco jumped at the invitation.
“Just bring your stuff over to my place and lock your apartment.”
Coco was quick to obey, and once she sat down in Miss Katie’s apartment, she fell asleep. Coco closed her eyes, but her thoughts didn’t fade. She was at the hospital and she saw her mother was very ill.
“Ma, ya gotta do what they tell ya. Ma, ma, stop ignoring me,” she pleaded.
Coco began running through subway cars in search of her mother. She had to be in this car; the conductor had seen her there. Coco walked through the doors of the car and immediately noticed a frail woman in a side seat. The woman tried to shield herself from the sun. Coco sat opposite the wispy woman, blocking the rays. The woman could see her face and Coco’s stare beheld what was left of her mother’s smoked-out shell. Her black jeans were dirty, and though the blouse seemed too tight, it hung as if on a hanger. The woman smiled, revealing a couple of brown teeth.
“Break a leg,” she said. The woman was now smoking the butt of a cigarette and chewing on a big, shiny apple. Coco closed her eyes. She turned. The woman laughed and brandished Coco’s wallet. “Ya missed your stop. Your stop is long gone. Ya went to sleep an’ missed your stop. You’ve been riding this train wid me,” the woman chanted.
Coco found herself in front of the concert hall. Lights off and people leaving, Coco opened her eyes, halting the dream. She smelled cooking. She fumbled for a cigarette and realized she had been sleeping in the same clothes she wore in the emergency room. Miss Katie called from the kitchen.
“Coco, you up? You were tired, huh? Jump in the shower, and when you’re ready, there’s some food here for ya.”
TWENTY-ONE
Danielle went through her morning ritual. She made sure to apply judicious amounts of mascara and bright red lipstick. After mirror-time, she phoned Josephine.
“Hello?”
“Josephine.”
“Danielle. I knew it was you bitch. Are we through playing Ms. Hollywood?”
“Girl, mind your own. Question is, are you ready?”
“I’ve been up all night.”
“Doing what, bitch?”
“Couldn’t sleep. But I’m ready, baby-o.”
“You’re bugging, girl.”
“You’re the one bugging. Muy bonita, thank you.”
“What, bitch? Just meet me at the train, bitch. And don’t be late. I’ll kick your…”
“Bitch!” Josephine hissed. She hung up quickly. With the morning formalities completed, she finally put it together: Blue jean suit, mild makeup and a change of gear in an oversized bag.
Josephine stopped for breakfast with her parents, as always. It was the only time the family could eat together. Then they drove in silence to the train station.
“Break a leg,” her parents told her. She gave them a smile and left the car, approaching Danielle.
“Five minutes after. Your ass is late,” Danielle said. She waved as Josephine’s parents drove off.
“Your parents, they always late, too? Is there a family trait?”
“Well, you’re looking an’ acting loud today, as usual. Buenas Dias, bonita mamie.”
“At two o’clock we’ll be on stage competing and...” Danielle began.
“It’s only eleven thirty. We got lots of time. Do I detect a moment of nervousness happening here?”
“No, I just like to be ready so I don’t have to be rushing, dealing with y’all...”
“Y’all?”
“Yes, y’all. Ms. never-on-time
Josephine and Ms. Cool Coco, speaking of whom…”
“Have you heard from her?” They asked one another in unison.
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
Coco sat at the table in Miss Katie’s well-kept kitchen. She heard the whistle of the kettle. Miss Katie placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of her and took a seat across the table.
“Worried about your mom?” Miss Katie asked. She sipped from a ceramic blue cup. “She’ll be fine. We just got to take it one day at a time.” She swallowed hard, then burped. She smiled. Coco giggled.
“Hmmm, hot cocoa’s good, huh? I’m gonna try an’ talk her into going to a residential right after she gets out of the hospital. That would be best for her,” said Coco. She slurped from her own cup.
“You’re right, baby dear, but let’s not be weighed down by that. You still have things to do in your life. How’s school and those tests coming?”
Coco paused. Then she spoke in a saddened tone.
“It’s not school and it’s not so much my mom.” Tears brewed in her eyes and traced down her cheeks. “It was seeing that casket lowered into the ground, Miss Katie. That was awful. Bebop was like my sister.” Coco said and wiped away her tears.
Miss Katie rushed to Coco’s side. She hugged the weeping girl. They exchanged smiles when Coco saw tears on Miss Katie’s face, too.
“Life goes on, Miss Katie.”
“It does, child.”
“Well, my friend has been laid to rest and mom’s laying in a coma from a drug overdose, and I have a talent show to win,” Coco deadpanned.
“I didn’t know you had a show coming this quickly. I thought it was still weeks off. Are you ready?” Coco got up and smiled at her.
“After all that, who wouldn’t be ready?”
“When is it?”
“Well, the preliminaries are in a few hours. We—our group, Da Crew—are guaranteed a place in the finals. So the prelims are like warm-up for us.” Anticipation lightened her mood.
Ghetto Girls Page 18
